


I Really Do Believe in You (Let's See If You Believe in Me)

by marauders_groupie



Series: A Very Merry Bellarke Christmas! [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 02:27:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5357534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marauders_groupie/pseuds/marauders_groupie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy doesn't have a lot of regrets but if he could wish for one, just one thing this Christmas - it would be to stop being enemies with Clarke and become friends instead.</p><p>Based on the prompt: "I know we hate each other but it's Christmas Eve and your flight was cancelled please come inside"</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Really Do Believe in You (Let's See If You Believe in Me)

**Author's Note:**

> Christmas fluff continues! 
> 
> Title is from Santa Baby - Eartha Kitt.

Bellamy is just about to turn on It’s a Wonderful Life when he’s interrupted by a loud knock on the door. Christmas Eve isn’t usually the time when he gets guests – not this year, anyways – but he still gets off the couch with a groan and opens the door carefully.

He’s nothing short of surprised when he sees Clarke Griffin on his front porch, shivering in December cold with red and puffy eyes he suspects have something to do with crying and not the weather.

“Where’s Octavia?”

“Wow, Princess. None of that ‘Merry Christmas, Bellamy’, ‘How are you, Bellamy’?”

“I’m not in the mood for this,” she sniffles. “Where’s O?”

“She’s with Lincoln’s family this year.”

“Oh, shit, yeah,” she frowns, her hand darting to rub at her face. “I completely forgot. I’ll get going. Merry Christmas and everything.”

The way she says it makes something in Bellamy’s gut coil and he barely manages to catch her hand and stop her. It is then that he notices the suitcases piled up by the stairs and –

“What happened?”

Clarke’s gaze flickers towards where his fingers are wrapped around her wrist but her hand stays in place. Cold like a chunk of ice, really. Then she sighs.

“My flight was cancelled. I was supposed to go see my mom and, well – it’s not happening now, is it?”

Her mouth twists into a bitter little smile and Bellamy knows that they fight like cats and dogs but she looks so devastated and he can’t help himself.

“Do you want to come in?” Clarke’s eyes widen in surprise and he rushes to explain. “I mean, you shouldn’t have to spend Christmas on your own.”

She wiggles her hand out of his grip, chin raised petulantly. “I’ll manage, thanks.”

“Look, Clarke, I know we’re not on the best of terms but your flight was cancelled and please, _please_ just come in. You probably don’t even have a tree at home, do you?”

Neither one of them speaks for a long time, sort of frozen in the place on Bellamy’s porch. Snowflakes keep catching in Clarke’s hair and it looks as if she doesn’t even notice it, eyeing him warily. He can’t blame her for not trusting him.

Finally, she speaks, voice barely louder than a whisper and an incredulous look in her eyes. “Why?”

 “Because it’s Christmas. And I know you hate me but can we pretend, just this once, that we’re friends? Because I don’t want you to be alone on Christmas.”

The defiance in her eyes turns softer as she flashes him a watery smile, nodding almost imperceptibly. He would never admit it but he’s relieved as she allows him to tug her suitcases in and hands him her coat.

He always was crazy about Christmas. Ever since he and O had been kids, Christmas was the one good thing they had. There were no lavish meals but they had each other, silly movies and hope of something really good happening.

Christmas miracles, he’d told Octavia once, they were real and they happened.

With time he realized that it wasn’t the case with his family, but even when they shared a one-bedroom apartment and ate ramen because it was all they could afford, they had Christmas and they had each other.

Now they’re both adults, relatively well-off, and Bellamy can never stop himself from going all out with tinsel, garlands, Christmas lights and a tree big enough to make Clarke gasp when she sees it.

“Pretty good, huh?” he asks her, depositing her suitcases in the hallway and coming to stand next to her.

He doesn’t have that many regrets in his life – he usually just did what he had to do, but if he could turn back the time, he wouldn’t have sneered at Clarke the first time he met her.

And if he hadn’t sneered at her, they would’ve been friends now. But he had, and now they’re dancing around each other, trying not to fight. Which is all they do these days. It doesn’t even take a good reason – they’ll fight about reality shows, politics, movie choices during movie nights with the rest of their friends – you name it, they’ve probably fought about it.

“I don’t hate you, you know?” she says when they’re in his kitchen, tracing the rim of her wineglass. She’s wearing a ridiculous red Christmas sweater with a reindeer on the front and green tights, looking like a weird elf.

(He loves it.)

Her nose is scrunched up when he turns to look at her. For all of her threatening demeanor when they’re fighting, Clarke Griffin is much more than an opinionated asshole. She’s kind, she’s smart and they’d be best friends if _he_ hadn’t been the real asshole the first time they met.

“We fight all the time,” she continues, “but that doesn’t mean I like it. It’s just – I don’t know how to talk to you, you know? I see how you are with everyone else and after a while, I just gave up. Maybe we’ll never be friends but that doesn’t mean I don’t want us to.”

He could cry or laugh. Both, probably. Instead he just stares at her, a little incredulous.

“Why are you saying this now?”

Clarke looks at him and he wonders if he’s imagining the way her eyes soften. Her voice is sad and a little broken when she speaks, “Because it’s Christmas and just once I’d like us to be friends.”

Bellamy knows Clarke when she’s riled up, her blue eyes announcing an oncoming storm. He knows her when she’s happy, a little fuzzy and loud. He even knows what she looks like when she’s drunk – definitely more affectionate than sober.

But he’s never seen her like this and so he just wraps her into a hug. When she leans into his touch, resting her head on his chest, he’s both surprised and glad.

They stay like that for a while, snow falling outside and the radio playing a modern Christmas song. In his book, the old ones are the best.

Maybe Clarke Griffin telling him that she wants to be his friend is a Christmas miracle. And for the first time in his life, he’s not going to question it. 

Instead he taps her back until she looks up at him, and tries for the biggest smile he can muster. “Want some cookies?”

 

*

 

Two hours later, Clarke is completely comfortable sitting on his kitchen island as he stuffs the turkey. She’s feeling better, if the way she’s excitedly talking about the time she and her dad went Christmas tree shopping is anything to go by, and it’s almost disconcerting how well they get on when they put in a little effort.

Honestly, Bellamy is probably to blame. His way of flirting with people he actually likes is calling them losers and being as sarcastic as possible. He’s working on it.

“My mom threw a shit fit, of course,” Clarke tells him, a smile playing on her lips. “Because we came home with this scrawny tree. And then I started crying so she had no choice but to go with it.”

Clarke grins smugly, downing her wine in one swift move and nudging his thigh with her foot for more. He gladly complies, sitting down next to her as they watch the turkey.

“You were a manipulative little shit, weren’t you?”

Clarke winks at him. “You know me.”

He’s still surprised that they’re able to get on so well when she hops off the counter and starts rummaging through his cupboards.

“You got any apples?”

“Apples?” he frowns. “What do you need apples for?”

“An apple pie, maybe?” she rolls her eyes, letting out an exasperated sigh before finding a bowl full of them and a mixer.

“I thought you couldn’t cook.”

“Yeah, I can’t cook for shit. But I can bake.”

And so Bellamy lets her, pitching in when she states the need for his help explicitly because she wouldn’t take it any other way. She’s as proud as he is, and maybe that’s why they never apologize to each other, just shrug the next time they meet after a fight.

By the time the pie is ready, she’s got so much flour in her hair it’s almost gone completely white and Bellamy is slightly tipsy.

“It’s your fault, your baking is turning me into an alcoholic.”

“Shut up, you shitweasel. My baking is amazing.”

“I’ll believe it when I try it.”

And she doesn’t disappoint. Her apple pie is delicious and Bellamy can’t suppress a moan when he bites into it.

“Careful, it’s hot.”

 _So are you_ , he thinks but just grins instead, probably coming off as a total dork. He’s not good with talking or eating or anything when he’s drunk and they’ve been steadily working on getting him there for quite a while now.

But Clarke’s eyes widen when he looks up from his plate again and –

Oh shit.

“I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” she nods, incredulous. “You kind of did.”

“Sorry, it’s the wine, I –“

“Did you mean it?” she interjects, crossing her arms at her chest and looking as if she’s about to challenge him to a duel. “Did you mean what you said, drunk or not?”

Bellamy blinks at her, his mind completely fuzzy and just this gorgeous girl sitting across from him and demanding answers.

This gorgeous girl who is Clarke Griffin and they might fight all the time but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s so into her it’s ridiculous.

He’s a grown-ass man. He can admit to having a crush. Even if he’s a total asshole about it.

“Yeah,” he says finally, sighing. “Yeah, I did.”

The silence lasts for quite a while and then Clarke beams – she fucking _beams_ at him and says, a little breathless, “Fucking finally.”

He’s not sure how it happens but Clarke rounds the island to stand closer than she’d ever stood to him, and he’s about to say something really stupid when she props up on her toes and kisses him.

It might be the wine but he has no problem sliding his hand into her hair and gripping her hip when she moans into his mouth. It might be the wine but he really likes the feel of her lips against his and the way her hands rest on his waist to come closer to him.

They part after what seems like an eternity, endless exploring of how far they can go without it being weird, but it’s Christmas. It’s Christmas and he’s not even going to overthink it.

Clarke smiles at him, lips red and swollen, and all he can think about is that he did that – he made her smile, he’s responsible for her shortness of breath.

“Why’d you behave like an asshole, then?” she demands, smugness radiating off of her. Hook, line and sinker. That’s why he likes her.

“I didn’t know how great your apple pie was, did I?”

Clarke rolls her eyes and he’s just about to panic because he says the worst possible thing at the worst possible time, but she just grabs his hand and tugs him on top of her when they’re on the couch.

“Best Christmas ever,” he whispers before pressing his lips to hers again. Kissing Clarke is a lot like fighting her; all passion and never backing down. They’ve found a rhythm, it’s relatively easy to adhere to it even if the sight of her writhing beneath him seriously makes him question why he’d been so stupid for so long.

“Santa is watching us,” she breathes, pushing him away slightly and staring at the cardboard figure. Alright, so that wasn’t the best idea. The cardboard Santa _is_ a little creepy.

“You’re right,” he agrees, moving away but pulling her on his lap when they’re both seated. She’s smiling a little goofily and he’s just so fucking giddy – it’s like a personification of every cheesy Christmas song.

Clarke kisses his cheek before burying her face in the crook of his neck. They’re both burning up, equal parts from wine and sudden shyness.

“But I really want to do this again,” he tells her. “I mean, like a real thing. Like a – you know – date?”

“I’d say that this is a really good first date, Blake. Get me more of those cookies and I’ll throw out Santa myself.”

He nearly trips over his own feet in the rush to get the cookies and Clarke just laughs. But that’s alright – that’s Clarke and she’s laughing at him, but with him at the same time.

Christmas miracles, huh. They’re really something.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading and if you liked what you've read, please remember the two things I cherish the most: kudos & comments. I'm sincerely grateful for them and I'll love you forever!
> 
> p.s. come find me on [tumblr](http://marauders-groupie.tumblr.com)


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